


A Much Needed Conversation

by MariusAngelicaSue



Series: An Unlikely Trio [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Can I call this fluff when its as sweet as dark chocolate, Gen, I just want them to be friends okay, people just need to work things out sometimes, teen for cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariusAngelicaSue/pseuds/MariusAngelicaSue
Summary: McCree wants to have a few choice words with Widowmaker once he learns she's a part of Overwatch too.Precursor to A Trip Down Memory Lane.





	A Much Needed Conversation

McCree distinctly remembered thinking  _ this is a bad idea  _ when he showed up at the front of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, after sitting on the recall message for several months. That suspicion was only confirmed when he saw others reacting in a similar way, and it made him delay his arrival even more. Winston had been shocked when McCree had sent a brief reply to the recall, informing the scientist that he’d be making his way back eventually, and that he had  _ incredibly important  _ things to do in the meantime. 

Things like getting blackout drunk in bars and waking up with an “G” painted over the “B” of your “BAMF” belt buckle in sharpie. 

But he was finally here, Overwatch was surprisingly accepting of his arrival, and McCree could not be more uncomfortable. 

At first it was for more obvious reasons, like the sight of the two deadly Junker criminals walking about the base as if they owned the place. Hadn’t the reports stated that Overwatch had them locked up?!

Luckily, after a false alarm was called and it was clarified to McCree that the Junkers were, in fact,  _ not  _ escaping the base and actually  _ wanted  _ to be there, things quickly settled down afterwards. 

Still, McCree was uncomfortable. 

It was expected, at least. After all, he was a former member of Blackwatch, the secret organization literally responsible for the downfall of Overwatch, and here he was, trying to become a part of its revival. It was ridiculous. 

It was even more ridiculous that they welcomed him with such open arms. He wasn’t sure what to think of it, much less say. 

However, McCree was good at nothing if not ignoring his issues, and that uncomfortable aspect of his presence was soon thankfully shoved in the back, left to stew while McCree let his mind focus on simple, everyday tasks.

Like figuring out who to speak with during meals. 

Or helping Winston convince the UN of his presence. 

Or keeping an eye out for Widowmaker, who was also apparently on the base. 

The cowboy flicked his eyes to the side, seeing a flash of dark purple slither out of the doorway and from sight. He narrowed his eyes, noting it down as the sixth time that week so far. 

_ Is she...avoiding me? _

Probably a good idea, all things considered. 

“McCree? You alright there buddy?”

The cowboy was snapped out of his glare, turning to see Tracer looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow. The two of them were sitting in the mess hall, the latter telling a funny story about her girlfriend.

“You’re spacin’ out a little there, bud,” Tracer frowned. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s just uh…” McCree scratched at the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond. After all, Tracer was a kind person, was she among the others in terms of forgiving the sniper? 

He didn’t want to find out. At least, not yet. 

“Um...I…” He glanced back over at the doorway that Widowmaker had just escaped from. “I have to go.”

McCree quickly stood up in his seat, ignoring Tracer’s noise of surprise. He strode out of the room, still able to hear the echoes of Widowmaker’s heels through the hallway, and he quickened his pace to catch up with her. 

What was he doing? What was he planning to say to her?

A few things kept coming to mind, but the option winning out was to look her directly in those cold, golden eyes and say  _ fuck you.  _

Yeah. That sounded like a plan. 

The hallway soon ended, opening up into the outside of the point, and McCree stopped in his tracks. 

_ Where did she go?  _

There wasn’t even a trace of her, or even some goddamn  _ footprints.  _

McCree looked up and around, seeing multiple ledges and buildings, and felt the need to punch himself.  _ Of course. She’s got a grappling hook, why did I expect her to just walk everywhere? _

Sighing to himself, he walked back down the hallway.  _ This is fine. I’ll just follow her another time, figure out where she runs off to. Easy peasy. _

 

—*—

 

McCree supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at being proven wrong so thoroughly, but he expected all those years working covert in Blackwatch would’ve amounted for  _ something.  _ Yet here he was, trying to follow the sniper over and over only to find himself metaphorically (and sometimes literally) running into a wall. 

He supposed Widowmaker was better at hiding though, considering she managed to fool Gerard that she was a loving wife. 

“You want to find Amelie.” Ziegler stated in a flat voice. 

McCree felt himself twitch a little at hearing the doctor refer to Widowmaker by her old name, and as such kept his mouth shut and silently nodded. 

It had taken another two weeks until McCree decided to give up and seek out help from Doctor Ziegler. After all, Winston had told him that the doctor was responsible for bringing Widowmaker into Overwatch, perhaps Ziegler was required to know the sniper’s whereabouts? Similar to the way the Junkers were always kept under supervision. 

“I’m assuming it’s not to make friends with her?”

“‘S it that obvious?” McCree averted his eyes. 

“A little, but not the most out of everyone here. Junkrat used to always call her ‘the purple bitch,’ after all. But I really should have seen this coming, and for that I apologize,” Doctor Ziegler’s gaze stretched out a thousand miles. “Being from Blackwatch, you knew Gerard more.”

“Guess you could say that. But what about the others? Widowmaker’s hurt more than just Gerard, y’know.”

“You’re right, Widowmaker has. Tracer still can’t bring herself to forgive for Mondatta’s death, you know. 

“But  _ Amelie  _ was the one who turned her back on Talon to find me, to ask help. She’s the one who found me in the end. She’s the one constantly wanting to go on missions not because she wants to kill, but because she wants to  _ help.” _

Doctor Ziegler walked up to McCree, her chin raised. “She’s  _ trying,  _ McCree. She’s been improving. And I don’t want you tearing all that down just to satisfy your own need for revenge.”

With that, the doctor whirled around back to her desk, sitting down and resuming her work. McCree didn’t move from where he stood, a small frown twisting his face. 

“So you’re not telling me where she goes to hide every day?”

Doctor Ziegler’s shoulders jerked as she snorted. “You think I even know that in the first place? All that I know is that it’s still somewhere on base, but other than that it could be anywhere. It’s her private space where she can clear her thoughts, and I give her that privacy. I suggest you do the same.”

 

—*—

 

The conversation had felt like a slap in the face, and McCree could almost sneer to himself.  _ Give her space. It’s not like Widowmaker really give  _ Gerard  _ some space, now did she? What is she expecting me to do? Forgive her and make friends? _

_ She’s trying,  _ Doctor Ziegler’s words repeated themselves through his head, and he did his best to shake them off.  _ By what? Avoiding people at every turn?  _

It seemed more as if she didn’t want to really face the people she’s hurt. 

_ Coward _ . 

McCree bit down on his cigar, feeling some spite against the Doctor behind the act, what with her constant nagging. He stared down at the cliff marking the edges of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, admiring the lovely view the base had of the ocean. Sighing, he sat down on the edges of the rock, pinching the cigar between his fingers and letting out a calm plume of smoke. 

It was a nice view that day, the sun was beginning to make its way towards the horizon, and soon enough the sky would be filled with lovely oranges and yellows. He considered waiting for it to come, he needed a pretty sight like that, especially with the frustration from the recent weeks. 

He leaned back on his hands, feeling the dirt shift underneath his gloves, and let out another deep sigh in an attempt to calm his nerves. It helped a bit. 

Something briefly flashed in McCree’s eyes, and he blinked, furrowing his eyebrows at the minor strain.  _ The hell…?  _

He looked up, squinting to see nothing but the sun up above. What could have possibly been flashing?

Then it happened again. The sun was suddenly just slightly dimmer for the barest of moments, before it was back to its full brightness. 

Nothing was flashing. Something kept obscuring the sun a little. 

McCree scanned his eyes across the sky, avoiding any more eye strain from looking so closely at the sun. That was when he spotted the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he jerked his head over just in time to see the small stone whizzing past his line of sight and into the ocean. 

Someone was throwing rocks, someone on a cliff higher up the mountain than him. 

McCree stood back up, grunting a little as he did so, and cupped his hands at the source of the rocks. “Hey! Who’s over there, tossin’ the rocks?”

No response, but there was a sudden lack of rocks being tossed out, showing that they had at least heard McCree’s yell. He frowned.  _ Is it…? _

Before he could complete the thought, his gaze trailed down to a dark line extending from the edges of one of the large boulders in the liff, below the source of the rocks, and his eyes widened.  _ It is. _

_ I’ve finally found her.  _

McCree didn’t even realize what he was doing until he was a few feet away from the cliff’s edge, sprinting at full speed, and at that point he didn’t have the time to stop himself. He launched off of the edge, grabbing onto the wire and grunting as he collided with the side of the cliff in the momentum. He glanced up at the edge of the rock, and saw the tip of a purple ponytail waving behind it. 

Feeling more determination at the sight, McCree began climbing up the wire, one grip at a time, and making sure he didn’t look down at the ocean and sharp rocks he was now dangling above. The entire time, he heard no response from Widowmaker at the top of the small cliff, and chewed on the inside of his cheek at the realization that she was pointedly ignoring him. 

He continued climbing.

He saw a glimpse of dark purple peek over the edge, along with a surprisingly peachy face. “Are you crazy?!” The not-purple Widowmaker called down. 

McCree grunted, climbing another foot. “Maybe a lil’.”

Widowmaker scowled. “You know I could dislodge this grappling wire if I really want to. You’re leaving yourself in an extremely vulnerable position.”

“I know,” He looked up at Widowmaker with the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster. “But something tells me your girlfriend wouldn’t like that.”

Widowmaker narrows her eyes, before retreating back out of sight. McCree swore that he heard her mutter “Girlfriend _ s _ ,” emphasizing the ‘s.’ 

He reached out a hand, grabbing onto the edge of the rock and pulling himself up completely to see Widowmaker, and he had to admit the sight made him realize just how little he had actually seen of her these past weeks, because her appearance was  _ nothing  _ like he expected. 

The first thing he found himself staring at again was that her skin was of a normal hue, the same as how she looked before Gerard died. He had heard that Doctor Ziegler had reversed many of Talon’s alterations, but that it seemed that that fact had never fully settled in for McCree, as the sight of the peachy skin was such a shock. 

The second thing he noticed was her posture. Her back was facing him, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared at the ocean before them. She was completely vulnerable: if McCree really wanted to, he’d have no trouble pushing her off the cliff. 

The last thing that McCree noticed was that despite the fact she had a different outfit—a simple jacket and some tight jeans—her hair was still the same long purple. She hadn’t cut it or dyed it or anything, it was the exact same ponytail from back when she was a heartless assassin. 

Maybe she thought that Talon had a few good ideas in terms of style. 

“What are you up here for?” Widowmaker’s murmur snapped McCree out of his thoughts. 

“Is this where you always hide?” McCree glanced over the edge of the rock to see the cliff below, and shuddered a little. 

“Well, I need  _ someplace  _ to avoid all the nosy people wanting to follow me.”

“Ah. Was I really that obvious?”

“Not as much as I’d expect from someone wearing spurs.”

McCree was so surprised he couldn’t help but give a brief chuckle at that. Of all things, he hadn’t expected Widowmaker to be this snarky. Still, the laugh was extremely short lived and the two were plunged into an uncomfortable but thoughtful silence. 

“So tell me: what do you want?” Widowmaker glanced back at the cowboy, and he felt a chill run through him at the sight of her bright, yellow irises. “To yell at me? Say I don’t belong here?”

“What?”

“I know you hate me McCree,” Widowmaker glared back at the cowboy with intense yellow eyes. “You knew Gerard the most out of everyone here.”

“I…” McCree wasn’t sure why he was struggling so much to respond to Widowmaker’s sudden barrage of questions. Perhaps it was the strangely demanding tone. “Why are you so desperate to know?”

Widowmaker gave a surprisingly exasperated sigh at McCree’s question, and he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the response. He was used to hearing about (and even occasionally encountering) a cold, heartless assassin. To see such a range of emotions in just a few minutes (along with all the other differences), McCree couldn’t help but find it harder and harder to associate this woman with the fearsome Widowmaker that Talon had created. 

“It’s just…” McCree glanced back up as Widowmaker began speaking. “I’ve been working hard to establish a place here. No one except Overwatch would accept Angela when she wanted to help cure me. When you responded to the recall...I’m sorry to say, but I got nervous. I don’t want you trying to uproot everything that we’ve... _ I’ve _ built.”

“Huh,” McCree wasn’t stopping himself. “I suppose that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Widowmaker whirled around with a surprised expression. “Avoiding you? Since when?”

“An innocent act that bad won’t work on me, sweet pea.”

Widowmaker glared at the cowboy, before giving a sigh of resignation. “I said it before. I know you hate me, I was just predicting your reaction and responding accordingly.”

McCree quirked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like a reasonable response to fixin’ a problem.”

“Really?” Widowmaker snorted. “You see our relationships as something that can and should be  _ fixed _ ?”

“Agh, I dunno. Maybe it should, maybe it shouldn’t. All I know is you’re not much like I expected when I heard the infamous Widowmaker was gonna be a fellow member on Overwatch.”

Slowly, McCree shifted himself towards the edge of the rock and at Widowmaker’s side. She stared at him through narrowed eyes, and she held onto her legs. “What were you expecting?”

“That shouldn’t be too hard to guess: more of what you used to be, I guess. Y’know, all purple-y and stuff. Funny though, a small part of me couldn’t help but imagine you being just like you were back in the day. Can’t say you’re either of those people, though.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?”

“Shit, I’m not the best for judges of character like that. All I can say is that it’s different.”

“Hmph,” Widowmaker pursed her lips, turning her head back to the horizon with her shoulders hunched. 

The two of them settled into a silence, Widowmaker from her stubbornness and McCree from his enjoyment of the nice view. Not to mention, he didn’t know what else to say to her. Any anger or scorn seemed to have died the moment he had the chance, and he was finding himself being far more passive in this encounter. 

“You know, you’re not that different, you know.”

“Hm?” McCree perked up. 

“The few times I spoke with you, you were overly confident, so sure of your abilities. With your constant jokes and the way you disregarded and talked back to Gabriel and Gerard, it was obvious you were still quite young.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you’ve grown up. You know that, don’t you? Just the fact that you’re here is a sign of that.”

“Or a sign that I can’t get my head out of the past,” McCree muttered. 

“Well, then you’d be pushing me off this cliff now if that were the case.”

McCree sighed. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that. Still, something at the edge of his mind made his eyebrow twitch. “Doctor Ziegler said you vanish all the time though. Back before I showed up. I’m guessing you’ve done this avoiding act on more than just me? Hell, sounds like it was with  _ everyone _ at one point.”

“I predicted their reactions too.”

“Including the girlfriends?”

Widowmaker didn’t provide an answer to that, and McCree gave a sly smirk. Eventually it faded, though, as it was clear that Widowmaker was genuinely irritated. “I’m just curious, is all: You were just talkin’ about how much you’ve been building.”

“It takes small steps, cowboy. Why do you care? Trying to poke holes in everything I say?” Widowmaker’s suddenly hostile tone made McCree lean away. “Trying to find that lying assassin underneath?”

“Can you calm down for a sec with the wild accusations? I’m just trying to piece things together out loud, here.”

Widowmaker frowned, keeping her gaze closed in on the cowboy as he rubbed his chin in thought. 

“Actually, now that I think about it, how  _ did _ you get girlfriends?”

“What, looking for advice?” 

“What? No, no, none of that!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you out. Here’s my masterful advice for you,” She gave a cheeky grin at the cowboy. 

McCree groaned, glaring at the sniper, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

“Here’s the thing, you get to know them before you date them. And to do that, you need to talk to them.”

“After you’ve quit your job as an assassin, though.”

“Actually,” The smile on Widowmaker’s faded. “For Angie, it was before.”

McCree raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“I’d think Angie would have told you this story.”

“Yeah, but she said you two  _ talked _ then, not  _ dated. _ ”

“I approached her back when I was still working for Talon. We… scheduled a few of our meetings before I officially defected. I don’t remember much of what happened, but she told me that I had actively searched to communicate with her and ask for help to reverse the conditioning.”

”What?” His eyes widened. “Why? How?”

Widowmaker glanced down at the ground, her gaze dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. “Gerard,” She shrugged. “I guess killing him left something in that conditioning chipped, something that was never repaired, no matter how many times they re-wiped my memories. 

“To this day, I’m still not sure what it was. Maybe it was the dissatisfaction from the ease of the mission, something that brought famed assassin Widowmaker no joy,” She gave a mirthless laugh. “Angie likes to think it’s the obvious, though.”

“That you still love him,” McCree raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s hard for me to believe, and I don’t expect you to believe the story, either; after all, what in my actions could’ve ever shown remorse or care for him? He’s still dead.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Not to mention, it’s hard to imagine him to have been quite so charming.”

The unexpected joke destabilized McCree, and he let out a quick snort before covering his mouth. He looked back at the assassin to see her giving him a sad smile at the sight of the reaction to her joke. 

“Look, we don’t have to speak to each other, I fully understand that. Could I just ask one favor from you?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell the others about this little hiding spot of mine. No doubt Angie would start putting my prescriptions up here for me to find.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” McCree chuckled, sighing. “And sure, I’ll keep my lips shut. But y’know, there’s no need for us to avoid each other, either.”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Yeah, turns out you’re a persuasive son of a bitch,” McCree sighed, crossing a leg over the other and staring at the horizon. “Guess it’d be unfair of me to try hating you before we really even knew each other, right?”

He looked back at Widowmaker’s wide eyes, before they narrowed into a mischievous smirk. 

“I know an easy way to get you to hate me if that’s what you want.” 

McCree raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

 

—*—

 

Angela hadn’t heard from McCree in a while, and wondered if he’d given up on trying to find Amelie. 

That, or he actually managed to find her. The thought made Angela frown, but she tried not to let it speed her pace through the hallways. 

She passed by one of the exits to the outside clearing of the watchpoint, when she heard a yell of indignation echo through. She paused, leaning in the doorway to hear again. The source of the voice was very distinct; what she wanted to know though, was what had gotten McCree so frustrated. 

“There’s no way in hell you got that shot moving like that!”

“What do you mean ‘like that?’” 

“Don’t you act coy with me! You were moving ‘round in the air, spinning like a goddamn top, there’s no way you actually managed to hit the target, much less get anywhere near the bullseye!”

Angela didn’t have a time to wonder who he was speaking to at the sound of Amelie’s bright laughter echoing through. “Why don’t you check for yourself, cowboy?”

Angela felt herself smile, at hearing Amelie so happy, and had to cover her mouth with a hand after hearing McCree’s yell of shock after a few seconds.

“You’re shittin’ me, you little liar! You told me you’d gotten worse with that gun after your treatment!”

“I  _ have  _ gotten worse. I need to practice constantly, not to mention the real Widowmaker would’ve been a mile away when she did that shot,  _ and  _ being attacked by Tracer.”

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“You need to work on your cursing. What, feeling worried that you’re not the best sharpshooter in this team?”

“Yeah, right! Let’s try another round, I’ll show just how good I can be.”

Angela walked away from the entrance, grinning from ear to ear. Looks like she should’ve let the two talk from the beginning. 


End file.
